Grounded
by CaptAcorn
Summary: Now that he's reached middle age, Tom has long gotten over the fact that he never became the Starfleet superstar his father intended. He's happy and proud of the life he's made with B'Elanna and their children. But even with all he's achieved personally, so much of who he is seems inextricably tied to being a pilot. So what does it mean when that's taken away from him?


**a/n** : Story four from my Home series! This is actually the first one written - Tom would have to retire eventually, and I wondered how he would handle it. Since I can't thank them directly, shout out to the guest reviewers on previous stories! Please see the first story, **Fresh Start** , for other acknowledgements. For your convenience, here are the previous stories in the series:

1\. Fresh Start

2\. Running to the End

3\. Growing Pains

* * *

The first thing Tom noticed was a familiar voice. It was Miral. She was close by — but her tone was hushed, like she didn't want him to hear her.

"No real change. The nurses said he slept well through the night, which is a first. So maybe that's a good sign? I've been doing a lot of research on my own and I read something interesting about neural activity in post-coma patients. I want to talk to the doctor about it later and see if it applies here."

Tom rubbed his dry eyes free of sleep. Control panels on the sides of his bed, antiseptic smell, vaguely aching head — he was in a hospital. _I guess I know how the test flight went._ He tried to pick up his head and turn towards the sound of his daughter's voice, but the ache became more of a stabbing pain and he let his head fall back against the pillow.

"Miral?" Her name came out as little more than a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Miral? Who are you talking to?"

Her face appeared instantly over him, her handheld pressed to her ear. "Abuelito, I have to go. Daddy?" Her face was tense and he could see her eyes were rimmed red. "Daddy, do you know me?"

He tried to smile reassurance, but his brows drew together at her odd question. "Only for about nineteen years, kitten." His confusion deepened when he noted her abject relief at the answer. "Am I missing something? Where's your mother?"

Miral's face broke into a wide grin, her eyes now brimming with tears, as she half-climbed onto the bed to crush him in a hug. "She's still at Grandma and Grandpa's. I'll go call her right now. And Joe! I'll get Joe, too. Just… stay there, OK? I'm going to get the doctor. I'll be right back!"

"Miri, wait!" he called after her, but she ignored him. Miral had always had a tendency to infuse drama into a situation, but this was extreme even for her. He eased himself into sitting — no pain this time, at least — and breathed through a brief wave of vertigo. _I've had worse_ , he thought as the room stopped spinning. He leaned forward to peer through the door Miral had left open. His daughter was nowhere in sight, but he could see the nurses' station and the medical staff... in 'Fleet uniforms. He wasn't just at a hospital, he was at Starfleet Medical.

 _That's weird_. The test flight had been over the Gobi Desert, as the environment there was similar to the one in which their client would be using the small surface shuttle. There were plenty of hospitals in China — why wouldn't they have taken him to one of those? Tom didn't feel all that bad. A little weak, maybe. Definitely confused. But no reason to cart him all the way back to California for just another dinged skull.

"Mom's on her way," Miral announced as she strode back into the room. "Dad! You shouldn't be sitting up! Let the doctor check you out first. He'll be here in a sec." She pushed him back onto the mattress and fussed with the bed controls until his head was elevated. "Do you need anything? I can get you some water, or are you hungry?"

Tom took the frenetic teenager's hand in his, hoping it would keep her still long enough to answer his questions. "I need you to tell me what's going on. It's pretty obvious the test flight didn't go as planned, but why am I at Starfleet Medical? Why did you ask me if I knew you when I woke up?"

She bit the edge of her thumbnail and sat gingerly on the edge of his bed, keeping her other hand in his. "Maybe we should wait for the Doctor."

Tom sighed. "Miral. I feel fine. Really. As long as you, your brother, and your mom are OK — I can handle anything else. Please just tell me."

She directed a final glance towards the doorway, then turned back to him. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Apparently he was going to have to do this her way — the girl could be more stubborn than her mother. "The test flight, of course. Everything was going fine at first, but then the port thrusters cut out… " A wave of nausea hit him as he recalled the dizzying spiral towards the ground that he couldn't break out of. Maybe that was why Miral was so upset. Maybe someone else had been injured — or worse — in the crash. But he'd been alone in the shuttle. No one else would have been there, no one else would have gotten hurt. And they always picked remote areas for their planetside tests. There wouldn't have been any bystanders. There _shouldn't_ have been any bystanders. "What… what did I do? Was someone else hurt or…?"

Miral squeezed his hand tighter and shook her head. "No, Dad. No. It's OK. No one else got hurt. You were the only person there."

The air left Tom's lungs in a rush and he sagged back against the bed. "Then why are you so keyed up? I'm obviously all right. We can fix the shuttle, or build a new one if we have to."

His daughter's brown eyes searched his. "What about this past week? You don't remember anything since you woke up?"

His nausea returned with a vengeance. "The test flight was a week ago?"

Miral shook her head. "It was nearly two weeks ago. You were in a coma for five days. And when you came out of it…" Her voice grew thick and tears filled her eyes again.

No. That wasn't possible. He couldn't be missing nearly two weeks. Except he wasn't, Tom realized. There were flashes of things — vague, like he was remembering a dream. Begging B'Elanna to bring the kids, certain something terrible had happened to them. Asking for Harry — who was currently on a starship some five thousand light years from Earth — and not understanding why he wouldn't come. He remembered the Doctor too — telling him he had to calm down before pressing another hypospray to his neck.

He forced a laugh. "I guess I've been pretty out of it, huh? What did I do, say something crazier than normal, or…?"

Miral kept her eyes on their clasped hands. "You were all mixed up. You kept forgetting where you were, thinking you were on _Voyager_ , or the _Exeter_ , or Mars. The Doctor couldn't tell us when, or even if, it would get better. And when Joe and I would come…" she trailed off.

This was getting ridiculous. The anticipation had to be more stressful than whatever it was she was keeping from him. "Just tell me, kitten."

"You didn't know who we were, Daddy. This is the first time you've recognized me since you woke up from the coma."

/=\

"Everything seems to be checking out fine now. His engrams are intact, and synaptic functions are nearly all back to normal."

Tom was worn out and fed up. For the last three hours, he'd been carted around the diagnostic wing of Starfleet Medical, subjected to every scan the Doctor could think of — not to mention endless questions about what he remembered, what he didn't remember, the stardate, the Earth calendar date, the current members of the Federation council, and his favorite chapters of Captain Proton (the last had been Miri's suggestion). His wife and daughter had hovered nearby through all of it, but Joe hadn't joined them yet — B'Elanna didn't want their youngest to come until they were sure everything was OK. Tom was now finally back in his hospital bed, Miral curled up next to him like a cat. At this point, he wanted nothing more than to see his son and maybe get some sleep, but the Doctor wanted to review his findings first.

"We should keep him for another forty-eight hours for observation." The Doctor raised an annoyed eyebrow at Tom's audible disgust before he continued. "I want to make sure there aren't any relapses. But the treatments we've been doing appear to be a success, if a bit delayed in onset. I suspect things just needed to… reset."

"He was in a coma for five days and barely knew his own name for a week, and that's the best answer you can give me? His brain needed to reset?" B'Elanna glared at the hologram from her spot near the head of Tom's biobed.

"The human brain is a highly complicated organ, B'Elanna. And still not entirely understood. But based on his latest scan, there's no reason to think that his issues weren't just a temporary hiccup."

"That your official diagnosis, Doc?" Tom joked. "Brain hiccups? I don't recall that one from my nursing days." None of this sounded so terrible. He didn't know why B'Elanna and Miral kept looking at him like he was a bomb about to go off.

"I'm so thrilled your sense of humor has returned, Mr. Paris," the Doctor commented before turning back to B'Elanna. "Now that we know he's on the road to recovery, I think it's time for..." The EMH gestured towards the door with a tilt of his head.

Tom frowned as both his wife and physician lowered their voices and started to move into the hallway. "You two know I'm still here, right? Maybe you could let me in on this conversation — since I suspect I'm the main topic?"

"Tom," B'Elanna said, in the same voice she had used when the kids were still small and she was explaining why they needed to eat their vegetables before they got dessert, "Let me hear what the Doctor has to say, and we can talk about it after you've gotten some rest. You look tired."

He sat up at that, gently dislodging Miral when she tried to push him back down. "I'm not five years old, B'Elanna, and rumor has it my brain is working just fine now. If you want me to stay in this bed, then you two can include me in whatever discussion you're having."

B'Elanna let out a huff but waved silent permission at the EMH. The Doctor cleared his throat. For dramatic effect, Tom assumed, given there was no need for holographic phlegm. "You're grounded, Mr. Paris."

"You taking away my allowance, too?" Tom snorted before the Doc's words kicked in. "Wait, what?"

Apparently, although Tom had banged his head pretty hard during the failed test flight, it wasn't hard enough to explain the coma or the cognitive deficits he'd shown last week. Never one to let a medical mystery lie, the EMH had poured through the pilot's medical records. ("Including several instances in which you sought medical care from someone other than me," he'd remarked with a sniff.) After five decades of concussions, contusions and various other traumatic brain injuries, Tom's cerebral cortex was starting to show minor, but cumulative and permanent, damage. "I suspect you've noticed it's taken you longer to recover from more recent head trauma incidents," the Doctor commented.

Tom opened his mouth to protest, until he thought about the dizzy spells he'd had after his last rocky test flight, and the headaches that had plagued him for a month after a bad fall climbing at Acadia up in Maine. But how big of a deal could this be, really? So he'd been a bit loopy for a week. He felt fine now. Just a little tired, and that was only because the Doc had been poking and prodding him for hours.

Although… He supposed it wouldn't hurt to take the hologram's advice. Just this once. Besides — maybe playing the compliant patient would get his wife and daughter to stop looking so gloomy. "So how long am I grounded for? What do you have to do to fix this? I'll need to find someone able to fill in for me at the firm. There are some people I can reach out to-"

"Tom," the Doctor said, and his stomach fell. His first name was never a good sign. The EMH went on to explain there was no way to repair the damage that had already occurred and the recommendation was that he be grounded permanently. No more test flights, no high or even mid-level risk flying of any kind. Even one more concussion, and there was a chance his brain could be scrambled forever.

Miral was watching him closely, her eyes worried. B'Elanna wasn't looking at him at all. _God_ , Tom thought, _they're acting like he told me I'm dying_. "No," he said finally.

B'Elanna looked up at that. "No?"

"No," Tom said, shaking his head and ignoring the sharp pain the movement triggered. "I'm not in Starfleet anymore. I don't _have_ to do what he says. This is complete overkill. I'll just be more careful from now on."

"Yes, you will," his wife growled at him. "You'll be more careful because your test piloting days are over."

"For God's sake. One little coma and I'm supposed to retire?"

"Dad!" Miral exclaimed, jumping from the bed to stand next to her mother. "There's no such thing as 'one little coma'! You have to take this seriously! All last week — you could barely read, you were forgetting words, names. And you didn't recognize your own children!"

 _Great_ , he thought as they gave him matching mother-daughter death glares. _Now they're ganging up on me._ But Tom sure as hell wasn't going to let their overreaction dictate what he was going to do with his life. "Doctor, I appreciate your concern, but it doesn't sound like permanent brain damage is a sure thing."

"No, Mr. Paris; but statistically speaking, with each subsequent— "

"And it's not as if me not flying anymore completely eliminates the risk. I could slip in the shower, or take a bad hit in hoverball. Am I supposed to wrap myself in padding? Wear a helmet for the rest of my life?"

"No one is suggesting that, but there's reasonable risk and then there's— "

"Plus," Tom interjected again, "you're assuming I'm definitely going to have another accident. We can institute more safety precautions, try to do a better job anticipating— "

"Enough!" B'Elanna barked, leaning into the mattress so Tom couldn't avoid her stare. "We are talking about _test piloting_. As in: the testing we do because we can't possibly anticipate every single thing that might go wrong during actual use of a vessel. Do you think I _wanted_ the thrusters to fail? Or I was sloppy and missed something?"

"I never said it was your fault, B'Elanna!" Tom snapped back. "You're putting words in my mouth."

"I'm not sure it's in Mr. Paris' best interest to be arguing right-"

"It's sure as hell not in his best interest to be a pig-headed jackass!"

"Can I say something?" Miral cut in and the Doctor threw up his hands. She pushed her fuming mother to the side so she could sit on the edge of the bed. "Daddy. I know this is a lot to take in, but keep in mind: most 'Fleet test pilots stop flying by thirty-five, forty tops. It's not your fault, but studies show that by your age, your reflexes are starting to slow, your vision is declining-"

"Your poor, decrepit father," Tom snarked, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm surprised you haven't put me in a home yet. Or is that where we're going after the hospital?"

"Dad! That's not what I meant!"

"Really!" the Doctor declared in his most officious tone. "That is quite enough from all of you! I understand that emotions are running high at the moment, but I promise you that having a screaming match in the middle of Mr. Paris' hospital room will benefit no one. We are going to table this discussion for now and you will all calm down. Otherwise I will clear this room," he glared at B'Elanna and Miral, "and have _you_ ," he directed his withering stare at Tom, "sedated!"

"Dad?" They all turned at the quiet voice.

It was Joe. Tom's sister must have brought the fourteen-year-old the minute she'd gotten the OK from B'Elanna. _Thank God. Maybe someone will finally be on my side._ "Hey, buddy," Tom called out, reaching his hand towards the door. "Come here."

Joe edged towards the bed without a word, and Tom wondered if the hospital environment was making him nervous. He worried about his son, sometimes. He was so quiet and reserved, unlike the rest of his highly emotive family. No one ever really knew what Joe was thinking one minute to the next. "I'm fine now, Joe, really," Tom reassured him, as Miral and B'Elanna continued to grumble amongst themselves in the corner.

Joe stood by the biobed, just out of Tom's reach, alternately chewing his lip and blowing his shaggy blond hair off his face. "You, um… You sure you're OK?"

"Yeah, buddy. I'm sure." Tom sat up a bit more and gestured towards the bed. "Come here, let me give you a hug."

Within seconds he found his arms full of sobbing teenaged boy. "Joe, buddy, it's OK," he murmured. "I'm OK." Tom threw a worried glance at B'Elanna, who had already moved towards the bed to comfort her son. Miral's face had fallen at her little brother's atypical display and she soon came to lay a comforting hand on his knee.

"I was really scared, Dad," Joe whispered into his ear, and Tom's heart shattered.

 _Well, shit._ He looked up at the EMH, his son's lanky frame still trembling in his arms, and sighed. "Hey, Doc?"

"Yes, Mr. Paris?"

"You win." He kissed Joe's head and promised him everything would be all right.

 **The End**

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 **Coming next week!** Preferences


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